


Let's Play a Game

by marilicerene (orphan_account)



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Illnesses, M/M, Romance, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:58:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marilicerene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Say, Saruhiko. Let’s play a game. The rules are simple. For an entire week, we’ll stay together. We’ll pretend that all the things that happened after we both joined HOMRA, never did. We’ll go back to being the way we were when it was just us in our small world. The person who stops pretending first, or backs out of it before the end of the week, loses. </p><p>…Game over, Saru. You win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Play a Game

**Author's Note:**

> For SaruMiSaru Fest 2014. It's MiSaru, not SaruMi.
> 
> Lyrics are from the song Au Revoir by OneRepublic and portions of The Fault in Our Stars by John Green are mentioned. I don't own either one.

**I**

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_Today I’m not myself_

_And you, you’re someone else_

_And all these rules don’t fit_

_And all that starts can quit_

_What a peculiar state we’re in, what a peculiar state we’re in_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Misaki is the kind of person who isn’t living if he isn’t being a hundred percent honest.

He loves being straightforward. He loves to share his dreams and ambitions no matter how childish they may be; he loves to let people see him for who he is. He takes no bullshit, if you’re someone he hates, you’ll know it. And if you’re someone he loves, you’ll know it too.

Because most of all, he loves telling the people that he loves, exactly how much he loves them.

_So cool! Saruhiko is so cool!_

_You and I, we’ll fly away to somewhere huge, and do amazing things together!_

_Do you know how much I thought about you!?_

_…You know, Saruhiko…I…I thought of you as one of my important comrades too, so…_

_Don’t you even care anymore!?_

Because he thinks, life is short. Life is too short for facades, to pretend to love the people you really don’t and to pretend to hate the ones who mean the world to you. That’s just the way he lives; with his heart on his sleeve. It’s a little dangerous, but at least it means he would have no regrets.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_Say, Saruhiko. Let’s play a game._

As expected, he’s given an incredulous stare. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s said that line to him, it’s just that it’s been so long since he last did. That’s right, they’re not friends anymore. They haven’t been in a long, long time.

Saruhiko frowns at him in confusion.

_…Are you drunk or something, Misaki?_

_No,_ he answers.  _I mean it. Let’s play a game. You know, instead of fighting today._

_…You got scolded by Kusanagi-san._

_Something like that,_ he chuckles, taking Saruhiko by surprise.

_So we’ll settle it with a game today. Winner gets to make the loser do whatever he wants._

Saruhiko still seems suspicious. Of course he is, Misaki himself knows that he’s acting strangely.

 _Define “whatever”,_ Saruhiko demands.

Misaki only shrugs.

_“Whatever” as in what-freaking-ever, man, anything at all! Let’s say you win – not that you will – and you want me to walk around town yelling that I’m a pervert with a fetish for dolls, I’ll have to do it._

He’s referring to a past fight which involved strap dolls and Totsuka-san and a game of rock-paper-scissors and a  _very_ awkward exchange at the end. Saruhiko remembers it. His lips curl into a smirk.

_And if I asked you to drop dead?_

There’s a pause.

Clearly, Saruhiko’s expecting him to get angry, the way he did during that other fight when Saruhiko said the exact same thing. He doesn’t. He only mirrors Saruhiko’s smirk with one of his own.

_…Yeah, that too._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Saruhiko is the kind of person who’s very careful with his emotions.

He hates people who let their hearts rule over their minds. He lives life with a practicality that sucks the joy out of it completely; he doesn’t believe in  _love_ and  _forever_ and all that crap. People who believe in delusions like that end up hurt and broken beyond repair, he’s seen it happen far too often. Most of all, he hates people who have big hearts.

So when he cares for someone, he does it with his walls intact, standing all around his heart like a protective shell. He says vague, half-statements and expects the people he loves to be able to read his mind.

_That’s right; keep your eyes only on me, Misaki!_

_Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san. Does your mind only remember that!?_

_You’re annoying, Misaki. I will_ never  _become your comrade a second time._

_I hate you. You’re noisy. Go die._

_Drop dead._

Because he doesn’t want to get hurt. He doesn’t want to look desperate. That’s just the way he lives; he doesn’t want to be the one who apologizes first, who expresses love first, who acts like an idiot, baring all his feelings, only to get rejected. It’s a little lonely, but at least it’s safe.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

In the end, he agrees.

He’s not quite sure why. Maybe it’s the way Misaki is acting so friendly, as if there’s nothing wrong between them, as if every exchange they’ve had prior to this wasn’t them trying to kill each other. Or maybe it’s because he’s feeling bored again, and his life has taken on that annoying monochrome gray and he  _needs_ Misaki to fill it with splashes of colour.

Whatever it is, in the end, he agrees.

 _Alright. What kind of game is it?_ He asks, hoping it’s not a dance game because Misaki always beats him in those.

Misaki’s eyes widen like he hadn’t expected Saruhiko to agree, but then he grins.

_Let’s play pretend!_

_Huh!?_

He’s confused. Playing pretend, first of all, is a kid’s game; and secondly, it isn’t a competitive game. But Misaki nods to confirm what he said and so he cautiously asks him.

_…But then, how will we know who wins?_

_The person who stops pretending first, loses._ Misaki states.  _Fair enough?_

He takes a moment to think it over. It seems plausible, so he shrugs.

_Fine. What are we pretending to be?_

Misaki bites his lip, a habit of his whenever he’s anxious about something.

 _…Friends,_ he answers.  _Like…the way we were before this. Before HOMRA._

Saruhiko blinks. Misaki’s not meeting his eyes, and he knows that he’s being serious. Still, it feels like he’s being mocked.

 _Quit joking around,_ he says through gritted teeth.  _I thought I told you, I don’t ever want to be your_ friend  _again. We hate each other!_

Lies, all lies, but necessary lies; to protect himself from getting hurt.

Misaki smiles at him, though. A sad smile, taking him aback.

_No, Saru. It’s a one-sided hate._

For that moment, their eyes meet, and Saruhiko knows Misaki’s being sincere. But then he turns away and the moment breaks. The familiar scowl is back on his face, and Saruhiko breathes a sigh of relief. He’s acting normally again. They can go back to hating each other again.

But it seems he thought wrong. Misaki gives him a defiant glare.

 _Don’t play it if you’re chicken_.  _Just so you know, I win by default if you don’t._

Saruhiko scowls. That’s low, preying on his hatred for losing. Maybe he should just go along with it. How bad could it be, right? Misaki had said he wanted to pretend to be the way they were before HOMRA, so all Saruhiko has to do is clam up, talk in one-word sentences and stop trying to kill Misaki until he wins the game. It’s simple enough.

 _…Fine,_ he says after a pregnant pause.  _I’ll do it._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The rules are simple.

For an entire week, they’ll stay together. It would be a vacation of sorts, at a beach-house Misaki rented somewhere on Oshima Island. During that period of time, they’ll pretend that all the hateful things that happened after they both joined HOMRA, never occurred. They’ll go back to being the way they were when it was just them in their small world.

The person who stops pretending first, or backs out of it before the end of the week, loses.

The winner gets to make the loser do anything he wants.

Both of them shake on it, and the game begins.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_It’s blue._

Misaki can’t really think of anything else to say to start a conversation, so he points out the paint on the wooden house awkwardly. Saruhiko nods but doesn’t say anything, instead attempting to drag their luggage inside. Misaki resists the urge to laugh at the attempt. At times like these, Saruhiko reminded him of a spoiled ojou-san.

 _I’ll get those,_ he says, grabbing the bags from Saruhiko and pushing the door open.  _Come on._

Saruhiko scowls at him.  _Don’t look down on me._  And then makes his way past Misaki and into the bedroom. Misaki follows with the luggage. There’s only one bedroom, although there are separate futons, and the door is made of glass so you could look out at the beach.

Everything is a calming shade of blue and white and green which leaves Misaki feeling fresh and healthy, even as his heart pounds against his ribcage at a ridiculous pace when he lets the bags drop onto the floor.

 _I’ll shower first,_ Saruhiko declares, which means Misaki is the one left behind to unpack.

He sighs a little. Really, a spoiled ojou-san through and through…

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

When Saruhiko exits the bathroom, the smell of something delicious wafts past him and he follows it into the kitchenette. Misaki’s humming to himself as he cooks, a red apron around his waist. The scene is so ridiculously familiar that it leaves Saruhiko scowling while a hand reaches up to scratch at his burnt HOMRA mark.

 _I’m not really hungry,_ he declares, doing his best to keep malice out of his voice for the sake of the game.

Misaki starts a little, finally noticing his presence, and turns around.  _What!? Why!? You barely ate anything before we came here!_

Saruhiko’s scowl deepens but he takes a seat on a plastic stool anyway.

_I said I’m not hungry. You go ahead and eat._

_Stupid Saru, you’re going to get sick at this rate!_ Misaki rants.  _Look at you, you’ve lost so much weight! Do you even eat anything other than energy bars and soda at the Blues’!? Don’t you scowl at me, you are going to eat this if I have to force it down your throat…!_

The nagging, the apron,  _Misaki_ , it’s all so familiar and Saruhiko just wants to throw up. But for the sake of the game, he smirks and teases Misaki like he would’ve if they had been friends.  _You sound like an old woman._

Misaki flings a spatula at him, which he ducks, and in the end makes him eat anyway.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Doing the dishes ends up becoming a game of throwing soap suds at each other and laughing so much Saruhiko has to remind himself it’s all just pretend. Only pretend.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_…Saru, are you still awake?_

Misaki murmurs it into his pillow. He waits for a response, but doesn’t get any, so he turns to check only to meet with that disarming expression Saruhiko has when he’s asleep; so innocent, so unlike his real self. Misaki feels a lump in his throat for some reason, but he forcefully swallows it down.

_You know, I had fun today._

He says it in a voice below a whisper. Saruhiko doesn’t even stir. The steady rising and falling of his chest confirms that he’s asleep, so Misaki ventures a little further.

_Totsuka-san had this thing he used to tell us. He said, nothing lasts forever, except for the memories._

Misaki lifts a hand to push Saruhiko’s bangs out of his face as gently as possible, and smiles despite the pain in his chest.

_So let’s make lots of memories on this trip, okay?_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

They’re both up before dawn for some reason the next day, so they decide to take a walk along the beach to watch the sunrise. Misaki’s face is like an excited child’s as he runs along the surf, exclaiming about how beautiful everything is.

Saruhiko doesn’t really see what’s so special about a phenomenon that happens every day. The water, the sand, all of it is bathed in red, and he hates red; his eyes turn back to the calming blue of the beach-house and he wants oh-so-badly to go back inside.

But for the sake of the game.

_Come on, stop scowling so much, idiot Saru!_

Misaki’s laugh is clear and innocent, and Saruhiko hates it. He hates that Misaki’s so damn good at pretending.

A splash of water suddenly hits the side of his face, and he splutters in surprise. Misaki laughs even louder, and his own scowl deepens when he realizes what had happened.  _That oughta teach you to lighten up a little!_ Misaki grins.

Saruhiko bends forward to grab some water himself and Misaki says  _Uh-oh_ before shrieking and laughing as he gets splashed as well.

They chase each other along the sand and throw water at one another like little children, and Saruhiko feels warm inside for some reason, an emotion he knows he’s felt before with Misaki, although he can’t quite name it. It bubbles up inside him and threatens to come out as a laugh, but he forces himself to stop before that can happen.

 _I’m tired. I’m going back inside,_ he snaps all of a sudden, leaving Misaki seated in the shallow water, blinking in confusion.

His back is turned as he walks back up towards the beach house, so he misses the way Misaki trembles as his lips form the question,  _Why?_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

There would be other people at the beach during the daytime and Saruhiko hates that, so Misaki suggests that they play a few of the video games he’d brought along with him. It’s a zombie game set in a haunted house that scares Misaki a little; not that he’d ever admit it.

They seat themselves on the floor, leaning their backs against the sofa’s legs as their fingers pound on the controllers. The silence is incredibly loud and Misaki can tell that Saruhiko is doing his best to put distance between them, and for a while Misaki decides not to force a conversation where it is clearly unwanted but then his heart does a little somersault and he remembers his philosophy of life being too freaking short to not say whatever one wants.

So he opens his mouth.

_Didn’t you have fun this morning?_

Saruhiko doesn’t even hesitate.  _What’s fun about splashing water at each other? What are we, five-year-olds?_

Misaki pouts.  _You’re a killjoy._

_And you’re a brat._

_Killjoy!_

_Brat._

_Killjoy!_

_Brat._

Misaki stops first. They level up, so Saruhiko turns to face him while the theme song plays them into another setting (a cemetery this time, Misaki shivers).  _If you have something to say, say it._

Misaki chuckles.  _You never want to hear the things I want to say._

_Of course I do._

For a second Misaki is confused, but then he remembers; right, they’re in the middle of a game. Saruhiko’s pretending. Still, he goes ahead and says it. Softly and full of heartbreak:

_Why do you hate me, Saruhiko?_

Awkward silence. Misaki clears his throat, about to apologize for asking. But then Saruhiko gives him a very obviously fake smile.  _I don’t hate you._

His chest hurts more and the lump grows bigger and Misaki feels like letting out a bitter laugh but they’re in a game, they’re playing a game  _he_ , himself suggested and so he shouldn’t blame Saruhiko for following the rules, so he blinks the tears away and turns his attention back to the screen.

_Sorry. I was just being stupid._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

It’s Saruhiko’s turn to stay awake that night and he replays the question in his mind.  _Why do you hate me, Saruhiko?_

Why? He honestly doesn’t know. All he knows is that it infuriates him to see Misaki with his stupid pretend family and his stupid Mikoto-san and his stupid pride. All he knows is that he wants Misaki to hate him, to yell at him, to  _fight_ him and that it makes him feel alive. That means he hates him, right?

In all honesty, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why seeing Misaki happy with other people makes him mad. He doesn’t even understand it himself, so how can he possibly expect Misaki to understand him…?

Saruhiko shuts out the thoughts before they start to take an uncomfortable turn. Misaki’s expression when he said  _I don’t hate you_ fills him with guilt, and he hates that. He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his fault. Misaki is the one who annoys him with his stupid blind loyalty to HOMRA so everything he did up until this point is justified.

…Right?

_Why do you hate me, Saruhiko?_

_Because you’re an idiot and I really hate idiots._

Or maybe that’s just the best excuse he’s come up with yet to avoid confronting that stupid warm feeling that he gets around Misaki that turns into ugly hatred when Misaki’s eyes are not on him. Maybe someday, when he’s able to name it, he’ll tell Misaki. Someday.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Someday isn’t always guaranteed to come, though.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_Teach me how to build a sandcastle._

It’s Misaki’s idea for the day, and Saruhiko reluctantly agrees. Misaki cheers. He knows that Saru is ridiculously good at building stuff for some strange reason, which doesn’t really suit his personality. (Misaki has always felt that Saruhiko was really good at tearing stuff down in a metaphorical sense. You know, when he’s drunk enough to think metaphorically.)

As usual, Saruhiko is a strict teacher. Misaki is reminded of the times Saruhiko used to tutor him back in middle school whenever he snaps at him to  _place his hands a certain way_ or to  _pat the sand gently and not slam it down like that_. In the end, Misaki manages to build something decent, although it’s nowhere near as good as Saruhiko’s.

Not that that matters, because in the next second Saruhiko kicks his own castle down forcefully.

_AH! What did you do that for!?_

Misaki is incredulous; the castle had been pretty good, too!

Saruhiko shrugs.

_I dislike things that don’t last forever._

_Well, then, that explains why you don’t like anything!_ Misaki scowls at him. _Isn’t the fact that they don’t last forever, what makes them beautiful?_

Saruhiko gives him a confused stare.

_What do you mean?_

Misaki turns it over in his mind, wondering how to word it.

_Well…if everything lasted forever, then you wouldn’t really treasure it, right? But if you knew that what you had would be gone soon. Then you’d treat it well. Is what I think, anyway._

Saruhiko doesn’t answer, but his face looks thoughtful.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_You’re a good teacher, you know._

_Hm._

_Man, I wish I could’ve continued school for a while. If I had you to help me even someone like me could graduate…_

_So why don’t you? There’s still plenty of time._

Misaki only smiles in response.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

On the fourth day, it rains, putting a literal damper on their plans to go surfing. Misaki’s in a foul mood all day long, and he nearly burns their brunch in anger. Saruhiko sighs, wondering why it even matters so much. Misaki is really determined to win the game, huh?

He’s doing a seriously good job of pretending to actually want to hang out with him.

 _We could always do something else;_ he speaks up, a little reluctantly.

 _Like what!?_ Misaki turns to face him, that scowl still etched in his features as he angrily dumps their half-burnt food. Saruhiko isn’t very hungry anyway. He shrugs.

_Wanna watch a movie?_

They pick a sappy romance thing because it’s the only DVD in the house, probably left there by whoever had rented it before them. It’s an English movie, so Saruhiko has to translate every other line for Misaki.

_I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful._

By the end of it, Misaki is already almost in tears, even though he doesn’t understand a word of what they’re saying.  _Translate the letter for me?_ Misaki asks him, referring to the letter that the person who dies writes about his lover at the end of the movie.

Half of it has already been read by now, but Saruhiko obliges and translates the other half.

_She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: you know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her…_

Saruhiko can sense Misaki’s eyes on him, but he ignores it, focusing on his translation instead.

_You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers._

Saruhiko expects Misaki to cry, but instead, he chuckles. Then he says  _I do_ in time with the actress on screen. Then, without warning, he turns to face Saruhiko at the second  _I do_ and says it while giving him a bright smile.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The credits roll and they’re out of popcorn, so Misaki takes that as his cue to get up and stop sitting so close to Saruhiko, knowing that it bothers him. But there’s a cold hand over his all of a sudden, stopping him from doing so, and his eyes widen in surprise while his heart does a stupidly fast pirouette that leaves him almost breathless.

_You’re acting weird today._

Saruhiko says it with a blank expression, and Misaki blinks.

_Am I?_

Saruhiko nods. Misaki shrugs. Saruhiko glares. Misaki sighs.

_What, I’m not allowed to enjoy a romance movie from time to time?_

_You hate romance movies._

_…Well, yeah._ Because they always hit too close to home, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. Saruhiko hates him enough as it is, having him confess that his feelings for Saruhiko are more than just friendly camaraderie would only make things worse. If things  _could_ get any worse than this.

_So why this one?_

Because this one hits even closer to home than the others, Saru.

But he doesn’t say that either.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

The rain clears up after a while, so they go out but don’t surf. Misaki says he just got over the idea and doesn’t want to anymore, which makes Saruhiko think he’s hiding something. Misaki loves surfing. Misaki loves doing anything that gets his adrenaline pumping. But today, he looks genuinely tired for some reason, so they just walk down the beach in silence.

Typically, it’s Misaki who’s the first to break it.

_You know, I did something like this with HOMRA once. We went on a trip to the beach and Totsuka-san said all this stuff…it was like he knew he was gonna…um, not be around anymore._

_You mean die._

Saruhiko doesn’t mince words. Misaki flinches slightly.

_Yeah, that._

_Well, he’s always been a perceptive guy._

Misaki ignores the comment.

 _Well, anyway, we went into this cave that was supposedly haunted and there was this kid, right? He always searched the cave for his dead best friend’s ghost, not knowing that the rumour about a ghost started_ because  _people saw him searching there. Ain’t that ironic?_

He does this stupid fake laugh, so Saruhiko doesn’t say anything. They walk together in silence some more, until Misaki speaks up again. It’s no more than a mumble this time.

 _Wonder if there’ll be anyone to search for_ my  _ghost when I die._

_Your mom, your siblings, your stepdad, HOMRA, random curious people out of the seven billion people in the world._

It’s an answer stated without emotion, because Saruhiko knows it’s true. It’s ridiculous for Misaki to pretend to be down, he has people who care about him. Not like Saruhiko. He doesn’t have anyone, and when he dies, no one will even give a damn whether or not he became a ghost. In a few months…maybe even days…he’d be forgotten.

His thoughts are interrupted by Misaki’s laugh. Saruhiko wonders what’s so funny.

 _Yeah,_ Misaki says between the laughs,  _I guess there will be people, but not the person I want, huh? Seven billion people in the world…when all you need is just one. Now_ that’s  _irony, Saru._ That’s _fucking irony._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

You’re acting weird today: read: I thought  _I_ was the one who’s supposed to say vague half-statements to protect myself, not you.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

Everything hurts that night and Misaki feels drunk enough to start thinking metaphorically, even though he hasn’t been drinking, so he thinks about how a person could measure satisfaction in relation to time. Like, how much time have you been satisfied?

No, how much time do you have to be satisfied?

No, how much time do you need in order to be satisfied?

No.

How much time do you need to spend with the one you love in order to be satisfied?

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

The answer is forever, isn’t it, but no one has forever and no one ever will.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

Day five. Saruhiko thinks he only needs to survive two more days and he’ll win this game. He already muses about what he’ll make Misaki do at the end of it; maybe it really would be hilarious to see him walking around town declaring that he’s a pervert with a doll fetish. That should’ve made him smirk already, but why does he feel weird all of a sudden?

Almost like…he doesn’t want the game to end.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

_Good morning!_

Misaki’s greeting clearly startles Saruhiko, who’s usually the first one up. There’s breakfast ready at the table, and Saruhiko frowns at him in confusion.

_It’s barely six o’ clock._

Misaki shrugs.  _I couldn’t sleep for some reason so I thought I might as well get up._

Saruhiko sighs but pulls out a chair anyway, helping himself to the scrambled eggs.

_Yeah, you were tossing and turning a lot for some reason and making weird noises. Had a wet dream or something?_

Misaki blushes.  _W-W-WHAT!? WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT!?_

Saruhiko smirks.  _K-i-d-d-i-n-g, you virgin._

_If I’m a virgin, you’re kind of a slut._

_Excuse me, I prefer the term_ sexually generous.

_Slut._

_Virgin._

_Whore._

_Virgin._

_I know you slept with Mikoto-san when you two were drunk that one time!_

_What, are you jealous~?_

Misaki’s blush deepens.

_…Hell no. What’s with this weird topic so early in the morning anyway!?_

Saruhiko chuckles a little, catching him off guard.  _You’re the one who brought it up. …What?_

_…Nothing._

_You’re staring at me._

_Am not._

_Are too._

_Am not!_

_Are too._

_UGH! YOU’RE SO ANNOYING!_

Saruhiko laughs again.  _Brat._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

…Or maybe satisfaction can’t be measured in terms of time, but rather, in how happy you’ve made your loved one  _in_  the time you got to spend together, no matter how short.

In which case, Misaki’s pretty satisfied.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  

They spend the rest of the day looking for seashells and listening to the sound of the sea and bickering like a married couple and eating and laughing and yelling and silently crying because everything feels so real but it’s not.

It’s not.

**II**

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_Let’s play a game_

_Where all of the lives we lead can change_

_Let’s play a game_

_Where nothing that we can see, the same_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

Saruhiko wakes to the sound of muffled crying.

It’s coming from the bathroom, he can tell, and after he blearily pulls on his glasses, he finally notices the distinct lack of Misaki in the room. Putting two and two together, he pads over to the locked bathroom door as silently as possible, placing an ear against it to hear what is going on inside.

The crying sounds become louder, and Misaki is yelling, obviously on the phone with someone.

_Shut the fuck up! It’s my life and I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want with it!_

A very Misaki thing to say, but Saruhiko wonders whom he’s saying it to and why he’s crying while doing so. Thinking back, Misaki hadn’t acted weirdly at all today. And they had been making small talk and laughing before they fell asleep. So what’s wrong…?

And why does he even care?

It’s for the game, Saruhiko reminds himself. It’s only for the game.

Taking a deep breath, he knocks twice on the door and listens as the crying abruptly stops.

_Misaki? Is everything alright in there?_

His voice actually manages to sound concerned. At this rate, Saruhiko  _knows_ he’ll win the game.

There’s the sound of a click on the other side of the door and it opens, revealing Misaki with his dishevelled hair and red-rimmed eyes and tearstained face. For a long while, they simply stare at each other. Saruhiko sucks in a breath, not really sure what to do in that situation.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to do anything; Misaki makes the first move.

Misaki grabs him by the collar and pulls him down for a searing kiss.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Misaki isn’t living if he isn’t being a hundred percent honest and he loves to be straightforward and maybe it’s strange, maybe it’s terrifying, but he loves to let the people he loves – the  _person_ he loves – know that he wants him, needs him, feels like he could  _die_ (fucking irony) if he couldn’t have him in the way that he has Saruhiko right now, so he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until they’re panting for air and Misaki’s heart is doing funny things again and he wants to cry and laugh all at once because everything hurts and yet everything feels so  _good_.

 _Please,_ he whispers, even though he knows it could compromise the game. _Please. Just for tonight…please._

Saruhiko knows what he’s asking for. Icy-blue eyes widen behind the thick-rimmed glasses.

_…Why? Is it because of what we said this morning? You don’t have to think that being a virgin—_

_NO._

Misaki cuts him off abruptly, shakes his head in violent desperation because his heart, his heart is acting like a circus acrobat and there’s not much time, he can’t have forever, no one can have forever but  _especially_ not him.

_Please, it’s not that, I just…I need you. Just for one night, I promise…_

Saruhiko swallows. Thinks about it. One second, two seconds, three.

_…Alright. But this doesn’t change anything._

Misaki reads between the lines; Saruhiko’s basically saying that everything would stay the same once the game is over. Doing this wouldn’t mean they are now lovers or anything. And Misaki wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, because it wouldn’t even matter, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he kisses Saruhiko again, softly this time.

_I understand. So please…_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

_You’re a good teacher, you know._

Misaki’s words come back to him and Saruhiko almost laughs because he’s pretty sure Misaki never imagined  _this_ context when he first said that. But it’s Misaki’s first time and he doesn’t quite know what to do, so Saruhiko guides his hands and his mouth and shows him where to touch and lick and suck to make him feel good.

And Misaki is being  _such_  an eager learner today, eliciting soft hums of pleasure from Saruhiko.

_—Aah! Shit…there!_

_…I love you._

It’s whispered after every little touch and kiss.  _I love you. I love you. I love you._

Saruhiko doesn’t say it back; feels like it loses its meaning now that it’s been said so many times (or maybe that’s yet another excuse for him not to confront the warm feeling that’s slowly coming back to him right now, a feeling he knows is not lust because he’s felt lust before with his many bed-partners and it never feels this warm) but instead he continues whispering things in Misaki’s ear, everything he wants Misaki to do to him to the point where Misaki is so flustered he can’t even meet his eyes.

Misaki is hot and hard against his desire and Saruhiko swallows, takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he’s Misaki’s first, will always be Misaki’s first, only to lose all coherent thought as Misaki slowly slides into him, making him throw his head back and cry out in pleasure.

_Saru…f-feels…good…_

_Don’t move, Misaki, wait…!_

But Misaki doesn’t listen, starts a pace that’s slow but  _hard_ and goddamn if Saruhiko doesn’t love it. The warm feeling that wants to be released as a laugh or a squeal or maybe even a declaration of what it is (too bad Saruhiko doesn’t know, though, so he can’t) bubbles up inside of him and he wants to let it out; yet doesn’t quite know how, so he settles for moaning  _Misaki Misaki Misaki Misaki_ over and over and over again.

And Misaki’s stretching all the right places, groaning above him yet never failing to whisper  _I love you_ , mingling with Saruhiko’s own repeated chant to blend into a twisted melody accompanied by their pleasured voices and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh. So carnal yet so spiritual all at once.

Saruhiko has never felt this way with anyone else – even though there’s been a  _lot_ of them.

Misaki’s hand suddenly wraps itself around him while his hips instinctively angle themselves to hit a certain spot and Saruhiko screams as his back arches off the bed. He tightens around Misaki, making him pause his  _I love you’s_ to cry out Saruhiko’s name as he comes, the pleasure of being filled making Saruhiko do so as well.

They’re panting as they come off their high and Saruhiko realises that Misaki’s crying again, his tears falling down onto Saruhiko’s heated skin and making him worry because it sounds a little like Misaki has forgotten how to breathe.

 _Are you okay?_ He asks, his concern not faked this time as he reaches a hand up to cup Misaki’s cheek.

 _…No,_ Misaki shakes his head in reply, bursting into tears.  _I put up with it for so long but it’s just_ not  _fair. It’s_ not  _fair!_

_What’s not fair?_

Saruhiko gently questions him, pulling the blankets over Misaki because he suddenly looks cold and tired.

_…Everything…you…me…my heart…_

_Your heart?_

_Yeah, my stupid acrobatic heart._

_What do you mean?_

But Misaki doesn’t answer, instead choosing to cry himself to sleep.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Misaki wakes up to Saruhiko’s innocent sleeping face dangerously close to his own, and he blushes.

It’s day six. Yesterday, he and Saruhiko (made love?) had sex. The memory of the night makes him lift his hand up to touch his still-swollen lips, the burning blush never leaving his cheeks. His heart is doing acrobatic things again and Misaki bites down to keep himself from crying out and waking Saruhiko, but a little whimper escapes him anyway and Saru’s beautiful blue eyes slowly flutter open.

 _…Morning,_ he whispers, and Misaki’s blush deepens.

_U-Um. Morning._

Saruhiko stretches out like a lazy cat and smirks at Misaki, who wonders how anyone could possibly act so normal after doing all those embarrassing things.

 _So, you were pretty bold yesterday,_ Saruhiko taunts him.  _Guess I can’t call you a virgin anymore._

Misaki shyly looks away.

_…I’m sorry I called you a slut._

_Hmm? Why? It’s true. So I like sex. Big deal._

He winks at Misaki and attempts to get up, only to fall back down because of the sharp pain down his back.

_Damn, you really don’t know your own strength, stupid midget._

Misaki laughs a little.  _Sorry. I’ll get you breakfast in bed._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

They walk down the beach again, mostly because they can’t think of anything better to do, only this time, they actually hold hands. Saruhiko feels that stupid warm feeling because of the action and it puts him in a bad mood, and he just  _knows_ Misaki has a bunch of PMS jokes armed to fire at him because he’d been so sassy this morning yet it had barely taken three hours for him to turn moody again.

That aside, Saruhiko wants to ask about yesterday. He’s genuinely curious about why Misaki cried, but Misaki’s body language is telling him not to, so he doesn’t. Instead, they make small talk and bicker and Misaki teases while Saruhiko answers with little tongue-clicks, and it’s generally a nice feeling which makes Saruhiko want to throw up but for once, he thinks that’s okay.

And for the first time that week, Saruhiko forgets that it’s all  _for the game_ , forgets that this is pretend. In fact, they both do, so lost in each other’s company that it’s as if they really did go back to those years when it was just them against the world, and every conversation and sway of their entwined hands feels warm and natural.

Well, almost. Misaki’s still a little shy because of yesterday and Saruhiko doesn’t miss the chance to tease him about it, but other than that, yeah.

It feels right.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Misaki’s heart stops.

For all of two seconds, it makes no movements, as if it’s grown tired of hearing Misaki complain about its acrobatic-ness and has finally decided to just…quit moving at all. Misaki can’t breathe, can’t move; his legs stop abruptly and Saruhiko stops along with him.

_…Misaki? What’s wrong?_

Saruhiko’s voice sounds distant, dream-like. Misaki’s vision is fading.

Then the two seconds pass and colours fill his sight again and he remembers how to breathe, in and out, so he gives Saruhiko a grin and waves it off.

_Nothing, nothing. I’m just tired._

Saruhiko frowns like he doesn’t believe him, and Misaki realizes how little time they have left now, and so he takes a deep breath and remembers that life is short and so he should say whatever he wants and then exhales and tightens his hold on Saruhiko’s hand.

_…About yesterday. Do you…regret it at all? Because I don’t._

Saruhiko pauses and then slowly shakes his head.

_No. I liked it._

Misaki wants to retort that Saruhiko  _always_ likes sex, but he doesn’t have time and he doesn’t want to waste a single, precious second.

_You know I meant it, right?_

_Meant what?_

_…That I love you._

_Okay._

It’s all Saruhiko says, he doesn’t even tell Misaki whether those feelings are returned or not, but somehow, Misaki thinks it’s okay.

_I just thought you should know._

_…Yeah._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

They sleep together that night, and Saruhiko ponders the day’s events.

To be honest, Misaki’s confession had taken him by surprise, even though a part of him already knew. The even  _worse_ part of him often took advantage of that knowledge, in fact, slicing literal and metaphorical knives into Misaki’s heart as often as the opportunity arose. That part of him surfaces way too often for Saruhiko’s comfort.

He hadn’t known what to say in return, even though there had been a sense of urgency inside him and a voice screaming in his mind,  _tell him, tell him now, it has to be now._ But what was he supposed to say? Hey, Misaki, when I’m around you I get this weird warm feeling and I don’t know what it is but sometimes it feels nice and other times it makes me want to murder you?

Because Saruhiko is a person who’s very careful with his emotions and that’s safe, and he’d rather be safe than get hurt as often as Misaki does (he isn’t blind to the effects he has on him, thank you very much) because of a stupid delusion like  _love_.

(He remembers far too clearly that stupid headache and the sharp pain in his chest when Misaki goes  _Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san_ and follows HOMRA around like a lost little puppy as though Saruhiko isn’t there even though he always has been but Misaki doesn’t care, Misaki only has eyes for Suoh Mikoto and Saruhiko is too weak in comparison to the Red King to be of any significance to him and he doesn’t care but he does and it’s annoying and everything’s annoying so he leaves…)

But he’s fallen a little bit, hasn’t he? He let Misaki get too close this past week. That’s dangerous. He can’t allow that to happen. He has to undo what that night has created between them with his own two hands before it gets destroyed by itself because he has no use for something that will never last.

So when Misaki looks at him with those eyes and whispers a questioning,  _Saruhiko?_ His lips curl into a sadistic smirk and he lightly pushes Misaki away.

 _Say, Misaki. Tomorrow’s day seven. I’m_ this  _close to winning, you know. You let yourself get distracted in between._

Misaki gives him a confused look.

_What do you mean?_

_Well, you fell for me,_ Saruhiko gives him a patronizing smile.  _You’re starting to forget that this is all a game, Misaki. You’re starting to stop pretending._

Misaki’s eyes widen. Saruhiko’s smirk mirrors them. He lets the meaning of his words sink into Misaki’s thick skull, lets Misaki understand that everything he’s done up until now – the kind words, the holding hands, everything – it was all part of the game. It was all only pretend. Fushimi Saruhiko does not fall in love, only lust. Love is for idiots who are willing to get hurt for nothing but a petty delusion.

_So you better get your head back in the game, idiot. Or I’ll end up winning._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Misaki knew. Of course he knew. But somewhere along the line, he’s been telling himself otherwise. He’s been convincing himself that the flashes of emotion that Saruhiko has shown him this past week are real, that his love is not completely unrequited. It’s alright, it’s alright. Misaki has always known. It doesn’t hurt any more than it always did.

(His heart tells him otherwise but he ignores it because it’s cost him too much trouble to deserve any of his attention right now.)

One more day, Misaki tells himself. Let me live this lie for one more day.

His hands wrap around Saruhiko’s waist and pull him closer, earning a raised eyebrow.

 _…Well, you can’t stop pretending either,_ he replies, a challenge in his tone of voice even though he has to remind himself to breathe and there are tears in his eyes and some of them leak out while Saruhiko doesn’t even bother to pretend to be blind to them, instead watches them fall with a sort of sick fascination that tells Misaki he actually  _likes_ his pain.

_You hate me to that extent, huh._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Saruhiko wakes up to an empty futon the next day and a delicious smell wafting from the kitchenette, so he makes his way over there. Misaki is cooking as usual and warmly wishing him a good morning as though nothing had happened yesterday, although he doesn’t turn to face him. Saruhiko tells himself he’s glad. This is the way things should be. This is nothing but a game of pretend, after all.

_Say, Saruhiko. Go on a date with me._

Saruhiko almost spits out his breakfast.

_What!?_

Misaki doesn’t face him, his concentration (supposedly) fixed on the wok in front of him.

_Tonight. I’ll make dinner and we’ll get all dressed up and we’ll dance and stuff. Do all the stupid stuff couples do on drama shows._

Saruhiko realizes that it’s a new level in the game, and if he backs out, he loses. Misaki is becoming a little more shrewd, it seems. Well, two could play at that game. Saruhiko gives him a sweet and completely fake smile.

 _Sounds great. And then we’ll do_ other  _things afterwards,_ he flirts, practically sauntering towards Misaki as he attempts to place a peck on his lips, only to freeze in shock.

What he sees in Misaki’s eyes frightens him.

They’re completely devoid of emotion. Misaki’s only giving him a blank stare and a little smile.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Hurts hurts hurts hurts everything hurts.

Misaki clutches at his chest and bites down on his wrist to stop himself from crying out loud. Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours…

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Saruhiko pulls on a black top and a blue blazer, pairs them with a gray scarf and tight jeans with high-heeled boots. It’s the only nice thing he has packed, and to be honest he’s not satisfied with it, but Misaki seems to think otherwise. The blank stare he’s had all day is replaced by a look of wonder and a light blush.

_Saru…you…look…_

Saruhiko rolls his eyes.

_Yeah, yeah, skip the clichés. Let’s just get to the dinner._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Halfway through a conversation about the eccentricities of Sceptre 4’s leader, Misaki’s heart does somersaults and pirouettes all at once at a ridiculously rapid pace and everything hurts so he pauses, reminding himself how to breathe.

Saruhiko swirls the drink in his hand and blinks at him.

_…Everything alright?_

Misaki chuckles.  _I guess this is it. I’m sorry, I don’t have time anymore._

_What?_

_Let’s dance._

Before he could protest, Misaki pulls Saruhiko off his chair even as he breathes erratically and pushes play on the stereo, lets the room fill with the sounds of cellos and violins and soft voices singing,  _Au Revoir._ How fitting.

 _Oi, Misaki._ Saruhiko frowns, steadying him as he attempts to keep a firm hold on Saruhiko’s waist as they sway back and forth.  _What’s this all of a sudden?_

Misaki breathes, in, out, in out; his heart hammers against his rib cage and also skips beats at times and his vision is swimming, Saruhiko’s voice sounds distant again, life is short and he has to say it, it has to be now. So he does.

  _Listen until I’m done, okay!?_ His voice is frantic, almost hysterical.  _Listen, you have to listen to me!_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

_I…I love you, alright? I’ve always loved you. Even back then, in middle school. I mean, of course it took a while, but I fell for you. I know I wasn’t exactly subtle about it, always trailing after you and stuff. A-And I know you didn’t like it, I know you didn’t feel the same. I mean, how could you, right? You were Fushimi Saruhiko and I was just…me. A punk who might as well have been raised on the streets, I could never be your equal._

_Misaki—_

_NO, JUST LISTEN, OKAY!? YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME BUT YOU HAVE TO THIS TIME. JUST LISTEN!_

_Alright, calm down, I’m listening!_

_…Sorry. S-So then. I tried to convince myself I didn’t love you, because back then, I felt it was pretty unnatural to love a guy. But then that whole mess with <jungle> happened and I…I thought I was gonna lose you. Y-You remember how I said you only treasure the things you know aren’t gonna last forever? Well, that’s what happened to me. I realized I loved you._

_But it took me many more years to gather the courage to tell you. And by that time…you were becoming more and more distant from me, especially after we joined HOMRA. I tried to include you in everything we did but you always pushed me away, and I don’t know what I did wrong but you started hating me, didn’t you?_

_I’m sorry, okay!? I don’t know what I did wrong but I’m fucking sorry…!_

_After you left—I couldn’t quite get over it. One time, I had this dream that you were calling me in order to make up, and I woke up thinking it was real but when I checked my PDA…your call wasn’t there, and I just, I broke down, I woke up Kamamoto and everyone too and they all pretty much_ know  _because of that._

 _Look, I know you hate me. Clearly you hate me enough to want me dead, but I just want you to know that it’s all one-sided and I_ don’t  _hate you, I tried to but I never could. You always pick fights with me so I pretend to, just to get to spend time with you even if it’s because we’re fighting. But I don’t really hate you._

_And I don’t regret meeting you, either. The times we’ve spent together…they were fun, weren’t they? I don’t regret them. I honestly felt like we could take over the world together. Ha, it sure felt like it, didn’t it? Me and you against the world. S-So, I don’t regret meeting you._

_This past week…has been amazing, and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I’m not the kind of person who usually likes being lied to but this lie has been so freaking beautiful…so thank you. Even if it was all pretend, thank you for acting like you cared. You made my dream come true. Thank you for being born, Fushimi Saruhiko, and for meeting me and putting up with me for as long as you could stand me. I love you._

**III**

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

_We’ll find other pieces to the puzzles_

_Slipping out under the locks_

_I can show you how many moves to checkmate right now_

_We can take apart this life we’re building_

_And pack it up inside a box_

_All that really matters is we’re doing it right now_

_Right now_

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .

He leans up and whispers in Saruhiko’s ear.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

_…Game over, Saru. You win._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Then he collapses.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

Yata Misaki lived life with his heart on his sleeve because though being desperate might have been dangerous, it was always worth the pain (after all, it only hurts if it matters).

Fushimi Saruhiko lives life with tall blue walls surrounding his heart and though pretending not to care might be safe, in the end, he’s the one who loses.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

He’s frozen; doesn’t remember how to move anymore. He tries, once twice thrice. Finally, he succeeds. He mechanically calls an ambulance and watches Misaki being wheeled away on a stretcher with a whole bunch of apparatus tied up to him, watches them attempt to shock the life back into him, watches his limp body rise and fall, rise and fall.

They tell him he won’t make it.

His mouth is slightly open and he can’t seem to close it, then everything’s a blur and now he’s in a hospital and he’s talking to…Kusanagi-san?

_You’re the person he was calling in the bathroom that day._

It’s a statement more than a question.

Kusanagi’s hands itch for a cigarette, clearly, but it’s not allowed and so he settles for biting his nails.

_Yeah. That was me. Yata-chan had a heart condition, did you know? Guess not, though. He never told anyone. The doc told him his meds quit working for some reason, like his body was rejecting them. Said he only had one week to live. We wanted him with us but he’s stubborn, that kid, he said he’s gonna spend his last days with the person he loves. …You._

Saruhiko’s blank expression wavers for a second.

He remembers,  _my stupid acrobatic heart._

He swallows.

_’Course we didn’t agree, but he took off anyway, didn’t even tell us where he was going. I called him that day to ask him to come back but he yelled at me that I didn’t understand what love was, can you imagine? Yata-chan is – was – such an idiot, huh._

Saruhiko’s not sure but he thinks Kusanagi directs a rather cold stare at him.

_Wasted his last seven days for someone who doesn’t give a shit whether he lives or dies._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

He doesn’t attend the funeral, doesn’t see any point in it. It’s packed full of HOMRA members who blame him for their vanguard’s death, anyway, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. All he’s feeling is numbness, that’s all.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

The rest of the days pass by in a blur. Work. Sleep. Eat, if he remembers. Work some more. Lieutenant Awashima comments that he’s becoming a workaholic but he brushes it off, because there’s a ghost by his side and he has to fill the silence with  _something_ or it would try to talk to him.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

 _Why do you hate me, Saruhiko?_ A deformed corpse asks him and he wakes up with a start, trembling and screaming until a few other members have to break into his dorm room and calm him down.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

The other dream is less frightening. They’re holding hands in a field of asphodels and the ghost is sometimes Misaki with the blank stare, sometimes his father with the cruel one, both demanding why he didn’t care enough for them.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

It goes on like that for a while, until the Captain forces him to take a few days off and practically orders him to go on vacation somewhere, and give himself time to heal.

Heal from what, Saruhiko wants to know, when he isn’t wounded in the first place.

He doesn’t care. He’s the one who told Misaki it was all pretend, anyway. Why does he have to act like he’s sad if he dared to say something like that to someone who genuinely loved him? Why sully his memory like that?

_I never deserved you._

But he goes anyway. He heads back to that wooden, blue beach-house, now empty but packed full of memories.

He walks along the sandy beaches, remembers warm hands clutching his and a smile brighter than the sun and childish laughter that makes the warm feeling in his heart explode. Saruhiko wonders if that feeling was love all along.

 _Stupid Misaki,_ he mutters.  _You died before I could say it._

But it’s his own fault for not saying it in the first place, right? He thinks back to all the vague, half-statements. All the lies. All the  _You’re annoying_ and  _I hate you_ and  _Drop dead_.

Well, he did drop dead, Saruhiko smiles wryly, so he ought to be happy about it, since he kept asking him to.

He looks around and realizes that he’s walked a little further than he used to with Misaki, and he doesn’t recognize the place anymore. There’s a little cave naturally hewn in the rock at the corner where the waves meet the sand, probably the end of the beach, and Saruhiko remembers something.

_Well, anyway, we went into this cave that was supposedly haunted and there was this kid, right? He always searched the cave for his dead best friend’s ghost, not knowing that the rumour about a ghost started because people saw him searching there. Ain’t that ironic?_

_Wonder if there’ll be anyone to search for my ghost when I die._

Saruhiko’s eyes widen. His feet move before he can think, which he’s grateful for, because he knows his mind would’ve stopped him and now he’s running running running until he collapses into the cave. There has to be something here, there has to be. Saruhiko just knows it.

_I couldn’t sleep for some reason so I thought I might as well get up._

Could it be that Misaki went out that night? Saruhiko frantically searches the sand and then he spots something red. A bucket. It’s turned upside down, so he lifts it…to reveal a sloppy sandcastle.

_Isn’t the fact that they don’t last forever, what makes them beautiful?_

Saruhiko frantically breaks it apart; there’s a note inside. He laughs a little hysterically, feeling ridiculously elated as he tears open the cellophane that protects it from the water and reads what’s written inside. The spelling and grammar is messed up and the handwriting is untidy and Saruhiko wants to nag at the ghost by his side because of all that but he doesn’t, he only forces his mind to focus on the short message.

_Hi, idiot Saru._

_Well I did say back then that I wanted to fly away to somewhere huge and do amazing things with you. Sorry, but I have to be the first to fly off, okay? I’ll wait for you, though. Come find me and we’ll do something together. We’ll take over the entire fucking world, I just know we can._

_Hey. Are you being stupid right now? Somehow, I know you are. Take care of yourself, you hear me? Soda and energy bars ain’t food. Also, you’re not a bad guy. You just really gotta let someone see that someday. I know that person ain’t me, and I don’t hold a grudge over you because of that, but I want you to be happy with whoever it is you choose instead._

_So go already, why don’t you. Fall for someone and let the lucky guy see what an amazing personality you have and quit letting them just use you for your body – which is great and all, but it’s not as cheap as you make it, you know? – and also, I forgive you._

_You hear me? I fucking forgive you._

_Thanks for being the one in seven billion who searches for my ghost. You’re the one I wanted it to be, anyway. Well, now you found it. It’s gonna go now. Then you can move on. And be happy, alright? Be happy or I’ll fucking haunt you forever._

_Now get out of here and do what I say or you’ll be hit by flames from the afterlife. Hey, maybe I’ll be reborn as a crow and come watch over you and your lover, what do you think? I’ll be pissed off if I come and you don’t have one, okay._

_Yeah, anyway. I’ll shut up now. Go. Stupid Saru._

He clutches the paper in his hand. It becomes a little damp, and he realizes that he’s crying.

_Seven billion people in the world…when all you need is just one. Now that’s irony, Saru. That’s fucking irony._

The tears keep falling and they just won’t stop, and there’s no one around but the ghost who’s waiting to leave so Saruhiko thinks, to hell with pride, and lets it out. Everything.

_You idiot. You IDIOT! I DID LOVE YOU! I JUST…_

_…I was scared. I’m a coward. I couldn’t say it…_

_Well…if everything lasted forever, then you wouldn’t really treasure it, right? But if you knew that what you had would be gone soon. Then you’d treat it well. Is what I think, anyway._

_That’s what you said, and it’s true, and if I had known I wouldn’t have—_

_I—_

_…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

And the ghost whispers  _I fucking forgive you_ through that stupid letter and Saruhiko laughs and cries until he can’t anymore and then he finally makes his way back.

Sated. Healed.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

_What’s that on your finger, Fushimi-kun?_

_Wedding ring._

_Oh, you got engaged?_

_No. I’m married._

_Oh? To whom?_

_Someone who’s dead._

_…Fascinating._

_That’s all you have to say, Captain?_

Munakata smirks at him.

 _Well, yes. You_ are _fascinating._

Saruhiko smirks back and remembers the letter, and suddenly he’s interrupted by a flapping of wings outside and something that sounds like a beak tapping against the window and he looks out, the book in his hands dropping to the ground with a loud thud as his mouth falls open.

It’s a crow.

Well, fuck.

Munakata follows his gaze and blinks in wonder, but the crow only tilts its head at the two of them. Saruhiko chuckles, and decides, he’s through with the whole pretending-not-to-care thing. He’s going to try and live life the Misaki way from now on.

_…Captain, do you have a minute? There’s something I have to tell you._

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . 

And if  _you_ have someone you love, go tell them. Before it’s too late.

. * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * .  


End file.
